


I Could Be Your World (But I Deserve Better)

by BrytteMystere



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon, The Boys (TV 2019)
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Badass Claire Beauchamp, Claire Beauchamp hates Nazis, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Fae!Claire Beauchamp, Gen, How is Reality Warper not a Tag, Reality Bending, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:15:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26764909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrytteMystere/pseuds/BrytteMystere
Summary: The Homelander is a monster. In many ways, he's little more than a bully far too used to get his way.Claire knows she is no saint. After all, did she not steal her son from his birthing bed? Still. Regardless of what new challenges the universe has for her, she is not about to have her son or her temporary residence in this strange future be threatened by Vought's golden boy.She is a monster too, you see. And unlike some others, she wasn't made in a lab. Her powers go beyond what the so-called genius of Vought had ever conceived as possible.
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp & Fergus Fraser, The Homelander | John/Claire Beauchamp
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	1. Embrace the Darkness (Do you feel alive?)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Get Up, Buttercup](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20288065) by [FeltLikeWritingAndHereIAm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeltLikeWritingAndHereIAm/pseuds/FeltLikeWritingAndHereIAm). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? Another fic? A Fae!Claire fic not directly related to my ongoing series?
> 
> I have absolutely no excuse for this. Asides from how I happen to have fallen irrevocably in love with Homelander (show version, mind you), and wow. He remains a similar type of monster to BJR, although thank every merciful god out there, pedo-activities are out. So. I have no excuse but here it goes anyways. Take this as a series which will be updated… whenever inspiration takes me, really, on the multiverse adventures Claire could have had.

**_Paris, France. Madam Elise's Brothel, early 1736_ **

Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, currently known as Elizabeth Moriston, had followed a scarlet thread of destiny all the way to a brothel in Paris.

She was unsure of what exactly lied there, or why the urge had arisen so promptly and impetuously, yet had followed without even giving a second thought to Raymond, or Claude, or any of the relatives she should have probably warned before simply leaving in this harried dash.

It simply hadn't been possible. Awakening at a truly unholy hour, she had felt the pull, inexorably drawing her to this one thread, within thousands.

Now, dressed in a black suit that would much rather fit one of her male cousins than a supposedly high lady of society, hair braided tastefully enough and mildly hidden beneath her hat.

This didn't overly disguise her to the sharp eyed Madame of the brothel in question, but with the absolute quality of her clothing, and some money, she was granted access to the room that drew her attention.

It was, as it turned out, the hastily arranged birth chamber of none other than Amelie Beuchamp, the one cousin who had apparently banished not that long ago.

Claire looked at her, screaming and bleeding on the bed, with the type of detachment utter focus granted her.

Because the moment she entered the room, she _knew._

Her feet moved without her conscience had a chance to catch up, till she was right between the legs of her fallen relative.

Washing her hands without needing to dedicate any thought to the action, repetitive as it was for her, she leaned in, and finished delivering the infant boy from his mother's shuddering shape.

It was love at first sight.

_"Cousin… cousin please…"_

Claire only paid any mind to the woman on the bed after her little baby boy was clean as a newborn could be, and wrapped in her cloak, the soft red one she had impulsively chosen even if its clear eye-drawing vividness contrasted with her desire to be subtle in her meanderings.

Amelie had been attended through the last of her delivery by the baffled matron Claire had apparently shoved aside to reach the baby, and was even now begging her to bring her the baby in question.

Claire tilted her head, just a smidge to her right, holding the boy tenderly against her chest, his tiny face fitting perfectly in the crook where her neck met her shoulder.

"I assume this is the result of that affair of yours, coz?"

Her icy persona remained, if far less intense than usually thanks to the care almost radiating from her towards the babe. Still, her eyes were a solid golden colour and despite never having been overly close, Amelie knew that her _cousin_ was less than prone to diplomacy right then. Which fit her fine, since she wasn't, either.

"He is _my son,_ Claire. Mine and my Robert's, so _please,_ just give him back to me…"

Claire hummed, head still tilted as she thought the situation over. It didn't take much time.

"No. He was meant to be mine, and so he'll be. A tad early, mayhaps, but I am here and not about to have him live with the Comte's abandoned whore."

Amelie growled, desperately trying to rise even as the Madame pushed her back onto the bed, and had her eyes been able to kill, Claire would surely be a corpse by then.

"Claudel is _my son!_ You cannot have him! Give him _back,_ you barren witch!"

Claire's eyes lightened a shade further, a molten gold look that remained utterly unnatural in those without the spark. Her gaze sharpened, and Amelie felt her breath stop as a vice enveloped her heart, the imminent threat of it shutting her up faster than any word.

Still, after some cooing from the baby, nuzzling her covered chest and mouthing at her, Claire's tense figure relaxed and her irises slid more towards a bright hazel.

"Fergus Claudel Beauchamp, it is. I shall feed him, and raise him, like you never could have. There is only a year left of your pathetic life, Amelie. Use it wisely."

With these words, the woman dressed as a nobleman left, uncaring of the despairing screams that followed, and was soon back in the streets of Paris, whispering lullabies beneath her breath to the son who had awakened her from slumber with his very existence.

_'Frank would have loved you… so, so, so much…'_

Soon enough she was at Raymond's apothecary, wherein she sidestepped both him, Claude, and Raymond's attendant towards the back of the store.

Once safe in the more private environs, Claire undid her vest and shirt, even her stays, till her breast was bared. Fergus nuzzled into her skin and she smiled, temporarily deaf to the bafflement of her relations, as she caressed one breast and then the next, willing sustenance into them.

There was no grimace in her face, at the sudden fullness of her bosom, at the building pressure or the mild mess caused by her nipples starting to leak.

No. Her whole attention was caught on the baby that, now free from distractions, clung to her and started to drink his fill.

She caressed the soft expanse of his cheek, and the first smile since Frank's unfortunate demise curled her lips at long last.

This… This was a new beginning.

* * *

**_Oxfordshire, England. Late 1940_ **

One could say it all started with Frank's funeral.

Their time together having only lasted a year, his widow was understandably distressed, and her only living relative and guardian, Quentin Lambert, was at a loss as to how to help her move on.

What could _he, of all people,_ even do? So he gave her an address, a place and a time to find a measure of peace and happiness whenever she felt ready.

Neither of them would know that that night, at Frank Randall's funeral, would be their last time together.

For Claire was determined to set herself and her grief at the war front, her inclination towards medicine and the sheer need to _fix something_ in her life driving her to distraction.

And Quentin… well, he wouldn't survive the Blitz.

* * *

**_Inverness, Scotland. Late 1945_ **

This was her road now. Alone and unmoored, Claire felt ready to face whatever awaited her at Craigh Na Dun.

There was little baggage with her, only a single trunk half-filled with books and medicine, along with what few riches she had managed to scramble after the sheer disaster her life had turned into once her beloved husband was gone.

She waited, at the bottom of that hill, as the women danced, as the sun rose.

She waited after, till the sun was at its peak, trunk firmly in hand and an emerald in the other, staring at the largest stone as if it would reveal to her the secrets of the universe. The way to escape the endless well of despair she felt herself sinking into every time she tried to sleep.

In a way, she guessed that the buzzing of endless voices, too low for her to hope to decipher, was answer enough.

* * *

**_Paris, France. Early 1735_ **

She hadn't expected to be in an entirely different _country_ in a whole different _time_ but by then something within had _clicked_ enough for her to make her way towards an apothecary shop in the darkest hours of the night, doing her utmost to avoid drawing anyone's attention, and partly failing at it, by hiding within the one part of Frank she hadn't parted with: the coat and hat he had worn to their first anniversary.

Still, she reached the place, drawn as if by a blue thread through streets she couldn't recognize or make sense of, having been last at Paris in 1945, when aside from the usual progress of time reshaping large swaths of the city, the very war had torn its way into most urban landmarks.

She was confused, and lost, numb and wrecked in ways she had no name for, yet the frog-like man who somehow set her at ease with his presence alone seemed to know her.

Thus began her life in the past, which would soon follow her inclusion as a ward of the Baron Amandine in the ancestral lands of the Beauchamps.

Which she had never had a chance to see before, what with her parents' early demise, Uncle Lamb's nomadic tendencies, and the wars.

And if something fully died and was reborn there, well… Claire was far from able to admit to such things.

* * *

**_Forêt de Chinon, France. Around 1738_ **

Through the ensuing years, Claire had mostly remained at _Trois Flèches_ with Cecile and Claude, avoiding society and giving her all to the baby boy she had taken in as her own.

The siblings were aware of his origins, of course, and so it wasn't overly difficult for her to obtain what resources she needed to adequately handle his education, or his medical needs.

That said, after managing to get a moderate handle of the power previously dormant within her, she hadn't met Raymond too often. And as such, his sudden visit when she had started to feel the threads of fate tingling again, set her alarms immediately.

"Tell me. Tell now, and tell me true. What is it?"

Affection remained between the both of them, of course. Claire had not, could not, forget his kindness that first night, or the many that followed, in this strange journey she found herself in. Even if now there was a distance that neither quite knew how to breach.

Fergus, feverish and weak, was tightly held in her arms, even if his age and weight should have started to make such affectionate gestures awkward. Her baby boy grew up like a weed, after all.

Despair, however, lined her words, for her every attempt to heal him had failed, and she was starting to lose her composure the longer she went on barely able to mitigate his symptoms.

"Madonna, if only for his sake, you must travel once again. The stones call you, even now, and your fate has been woven into a different time. For his sake… It is time."

Claire held her baby, the boy she had lived for, and loved with her whole being, from the very moment his thread of fate drew her to him. She knew that, despite his probable affection towards Fergus, Raymond hadn't come to her for his sake.

Reality was starting to tear around her, her connexion to the endless void of the chaotic cycle of life seeping from her very pores and reaching out to everything nearby. Her emotional instability due to Fergus' persistent illness wasn't helping matters.

Still. She couldn't bring herself to care.

"Will I be able to save him? If I go now, wherever and whenever the portal takes me?"

"Yes, Madonna."

They were the Beauchamps. Inevitably tied to the Winter Fae Court, Unseelie at their core, every last one of them. Spark or not. Raymond and her perhaps more closely than most, but this only made things clearer. Secrets could be, yes, and Raymond was clearly holding onto many, but not lies.

Lies were not a possibility for the likes of them.

So hazel met hazel, both brightening to a golden hue, and they set in motion.

* * *

**_New York, USA. Early 2014_ **

She had, once again, landed in a world absolutely alien to her, if in different ways than her last arrival at Paris had been.

The world around her felt _wrong_ in ways she couldn't express, and despite the occasional weird looks by the people she crossed, it took little time to find a hospital - even if it had changed quite significantly from what she knew as such.

There, she used the power she had mostly kept dormant more in an hour than she had in the whole extent of her life, with mayhaps the sole exception of war times.

After all, she was a woman who had shown up out of nowhere with a feverish child, dressed in a green ensemble that was more fit to the 18th century's Versailles than the streets of this city, which she had shortly learned was, in fact, New York.

It didn't matter.

Her first priority was getting Fergus treated, and treated well. She would see to finding lodgings and getting papers once she was certain that her son would heal properly.

* * *

It could have been hours, or even days, she knew not. But Fergus was clearly improving, had gotten every vaccine he could, and so had she.

One of the nurses - a brunette with a somewhat gentle face - had ended up being her main source of information and resources, even if Claire was less than pleased by how such ends had been reached… when it came to keeping Fergus safe, she found her moral compass didn't overly care for ethics of any kind.

So she took the clothes, changed into a less conspicuous green dress, and once her son was well enough, moved them both to the rather lacklustre apartment of the nurse in question.

Things would be fine. _They would be._ So what if she didn't recognize anything and the current technology was as alien to her as her own time's would have been to the 18th century Beauchamps?

So _what_ if superheroes were apparently a _thing,_ and not just rumours of shady deals with ex nazis?

There was time. She had all the time in the world.

And, as she adjusted the IV she had set up for Fergus, with the pint of her blood slowly trickling into his veins, she promised herself to take on the brave new world at a later date.

* * *

It took around a month for her to stop standing out like the sorest of thumbs, due to her sheer lack of familiarity with… pretty much _everything_ about the world surrounding her.

Fergus, meanwhile, had taken easily enough to the endless stream of information around them, at least as much as a toddler could.

It would be his fourth birthday soon, at that, which motivated Claire to seek the documents they would need more thoroughly.

In between researching the nurse's every book, of course. She wasn't about to deny herself the chance to improve her medical skills, not when Fergus could end up finding himself in a similar situation as before.

So she studied medicine and guessed at her powers, learning to combine them even as the endless noise of the city got on her nerves more than once.

And at last, when her hold on the nurse had started to feel less like a temporary measure and more akin to something that would leave the girl with some manner of serious issue if it went on… Claire was awakened at night by a thread of fate, which took her once again to the doorstep of a Frenchman, in need of help.

* * *

**_Vought International HQ, NY, USA. Early 2019_ **

The very last thing Claire had imagined, back when she was thrown into a park by the uncaring hold of her ancestors with a feverish Fergus in her hands, was that she would end up working within the massive tower her eyes had been drawn to, those first days.

Still, there she was, having powered (quite literally) her way into the modern world, into its conception of medicine, and at the heart of the most relevant Pharmaceutical Company she had ever been aware of.

It paid more than enough for Fergus' endless stream of tutors, so that was something. And their insurance was relatively good, even if the things she had discovered since she started working for them were… less than tolerable.

She had taken to religiously avoiding Madelyn Stillwell lest her inner monster follow on her neverending desire to break her neck.

Well, her or that baby of hers that somehow forever reminded her of her own lack of such, of her own at the very least.

It had been less than pleasant, to realize that if anyone ever took notice of her… abilities… or even worse, Fergus', they would assume they were akin to the lab rats Vought toted as heroes chosen by God.

The very thought made her scoff, even as she got the call that, unknown to her, would once again reroute the direction of her life.

* * *

Fergus had been skipping his Latin lessons.

Well, that _and_ he had been doing so by way of sneaking all around the Vought tower looking for her.

Because he missed her lots.

And. Truth is. She wouldn't have _minded_ him so blatantly ignoring her no powers around others rule, _if_ she hadn't found this out by way of having _Homelander_ of all people finding her mid check up for Teddy, Stillwell's baby she had sadly ended up caring for in this most irritating day of days, with her 8 year old in tow.

Now, she was aware that she should have probably greeted him, or at least make certain Stillwell's baby was safely secured to the table, but…

She had seen Fergus, had felt the lingering threads of his distress, and all her being had focused on him in less than a heartbeat.

"Fergus! Oh, baby, baby, mon petit prince, quesque faits-tu ici ? _You should be on your Spanish lessons, dear one, did something happen? Did someone hurt you? Tell Maman, please?"_

She shifted to French midway, because if there was one thing she would not take from her baby regardless of where they ended up moored, it was his heritage.

After a quick check up, she hugged him tight to her, despite his complaints and squirming.

"Maman, Maman! Rien ha passé, je… I only missed you. And Miss Pleasant said you would be late!"

She was cupping his dear face in her hands, relaxing as she certified her baby boy was safe, before her attention was at last drawn to the man she had been accidentally ignoring, which brought her to rise and again pull a less squirming Fergus to her side.

They were almost of a height, and she could see the fleeting shadow of some dark emotion in his admittedly attractive factions, even as she met those blue, blue eyes of his.

"Mr. Homelander, I… I can only apologize. Fergus meant no harm, and I'll make sure this doesn't repeat," she said with a scolding glance at her pouting boy. "Thank you for bringing him to me…"

She _was_ apologetic, if more for the needless reveal of her son's predilections - Fergus was not one to be kept from whatever he chose, locks or security be damned - than for having the leader of the Seven personally escorting her son to a floor he had little reason to go into otherwise.

If he had felt at freedom to use his time by escorting an 8 year old to her side, what did that have to do with her?

Claire was, of course, aware of the usual status quo, yet remained unable to bring herself to fear or admire the so-called heroes of Vought. Even one such as the Homelander.

Through several accidents and misadventures - mostly involved in helping Frenchie for the whole arrangement of documentation both her and Fergus had needed - she had ended realizing that despite the sort of damage those heat rays of his or his strength could wreck on her body, not a trace would be seen in around an hour, tops.

And her every return proved unusually lethal to whoever had harmed her, so… as she faced him, there wasn't even the slightest shred of fear within her.

To be fair, Fergus shouldn't have had cause to fear him either, beyond… oh.

The scolding. She was supposed to scold Fergus, was she not?

Yet the Homelander's gaze remained on her, a front of disappointed paternal expectations quasi etched on his features. Claire was not about to break the stare down. Especially not when his expression shifted, cracked, as if he had seen something she would rather have kept secret.

Those blue, blue eyes of his were piercing her soul and the moment grew more and more tense as the silence remained. Prolonged.

Fergus' hands were tight on her waist, face mostly hidden on her back as she, with no conscious input, pulled him further behind her.

"You-"

"Mr. Homelander-"

She closed her mouth so fast her teeth clicked, body growing tenser than a bowstring, yet all his reaction ended up being the faintest moue of irritation at being interrupted.

"You… Have you worked here long?"

Was he mayhaps thinking she should have been introduced to him? Or had he been making some sort of vague reference to her determined avoidance of every single social function the damnable company thought to put in place?

"Almost four years, Mr. Homelander. Although most of my time is spent in the labs, and social functions aren't exactly my scene."

 _Labs._ Could he even understand what she meant? Did he realize that Vought's conception of labs went beyond just those within the Tower? Within the known facilities? Did he even realize that Compound V was still being worked on? That even now, Vought was trying to perfect it so that most adults wouldn't explode upon being injected with it?

His eyes had checked her identification, and she was quite certain he had just tried to do whatever weirdness allowed him to see into someone's insides, to find the everlasting frost that protected _her_ from such things.

She knew this, of course, by the obvious reaction he had, blinking before trying again, eyes narrowing even as he tried to muster back up whatever remained of his polite façade.

"Miss Beauchamp, it has been… a _pleasure_ to meet you."

He was gone then, long strides carrying him away in what could have been a single breath.

She wanted to loudly correct him, to remind him that she was _Doctor_ Beauchamp, but Fergus by then was clinging rather painfully to her, anchoring her to the true consequences of going toe to toe against such a person in the middle of an underground lab, alone.

There would be a different time, she knew. His attention had been drawn and he didn't seem the type to forget whatever drew it in the first place. No. She'd seen that look of his before, that itching of _I'll figure you out, I'll get all I want from you_ glinting in his eyes, in every tense line of his body, in the very tilt of his head.

She hadn't meant to attract a monster. But, even as she calmed her emotions and the edging void she was pouring into the fragile weaving of reality around her, she knew, he would face many more surprises if she had been chosen as his new potential toy.

On the changing surface, Teddy started crying, momentarily taking Fergus from his fear as he moved to coo at the baby, and did his best to settle him.

Claire, however, kept her gaze towards the door Homelander had used, feeling deep down that a new confrontation wouldn't be long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is meant to be at least two parts, and I may just be dooming myself to another ongoing fic to wrangle in my fleeting moments of inspiration, but what can I do? The story wanted to be written.
> 
> And damn me, it does seem like I'll have to make Fae!Claire Beauchamp a tag on my lonesome!  
> So be it!
> 
> (This is shamelessly inspired by "Become the Beast", by Karliene)


	2. Your World is I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I am forced to admit this story will most certainly need a third chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Here I am, still reeling from leaving my previous job, getting my electric scooter stolen, and yet finding a measure of contentment in my new obsession with Crusader Kings 3 playthroughs (it has been an eventful month). But also! Season 2 of The Boys is over, and while I wait for my fave fic if that fandom to update, I got a comment and felt moved to write, so it seems my inspiration particularly likes 2:30 am for some reason…

Claire knew she was being watched.

Felt it right to her bones, felt it in the quasi palpable intensity of the man who hid behind walls yet kept his gaze firmly on her.

Now, not being the meek type, she kept calmly feeding Teddy his bottle - Stillwell had again left her in charge of the child - and pretended she wasn't aware that Homelander seemed to have mildly shifted his focus from the baby's mother to her own person.

Fergus would laugh, she knew. He usually found the so-called heroes quite amusing, but dedicated an impressive amount of subtle disdain towards whatever poor fool tried to court her. Claire could almost imagine the sweet sound of his laughter as she told him of the _greatest superhero in the world_ sneaking glances at her through concrete.

This tendency had started shortly after her son's ill timed sneaking operation, and she had been calmly going through an autopsy when she had realized the tingling nuisance she felt wasn't wholly the cameras pointed in her direction.

Confronting him had been tempting from the get go, and he had surely noticed the brief hesitation in her movements as she held her scalpel aloof, before proceeding.

Claire had determined then that she had too much to learn yet to even worry about whatever nonsense Homelander felt like wasting time with, what with her ongoing medical studies and the unsettling rumours of Vought having once again gotten entangled with a Nazi.

Who would probably be a better target for her ever increasing rage over Vought in general.

Truly, the more she learned of the place, the more she wished to see it burned to the ground. Still. She felt the past beckoning more strongly with every passing night, and as such her time-frame of action was… limited.

Fergus was as ready as he could be to face the 18th century again, and so was she, but… something remained undone. Something that called her, stalled her travels and tied her to the confusing hell that was the future she had landed in, even after years of careful analysis.

Something related to the monster with a flag for a cape, stalking her through the walls and shadows.

* * *

It shouldn't have surprised her that things would come to a head when a familiar-and-not presence came into the picture.

She had heard of A-Train's latest collateral, of course, and Stillwell had grumbled on more than one occasion about the man who had refused repeatedly to sign the usual contract. Even so, the very last thing she expected that particular day had been to feel the echoes of the world being drawn to someone else's will.

The pull was tenuous, the person in question clearly doing his best to avoid drawing much attention, but to her the attempt was moot.

Her scalpel clattered back onto the open corpse, her gloves quickly discarded as she got rid of the lab coat, her steps soon echoing through the lab in her hurried race.

She had to find this. See them. The person whose power echoed her own, in such a tantalizing way she couldn't ignore. And maybe she would later blame her carelessness into how used she had become to a certain gaze being focused on her, because no thought was spared to the familiar feeling as her will twisted the world, her door impossibly opening right to the men's bathroom several floors upstairs.

* * *

She hadn't expected to see the figure whose aura had drawn her in being accosted by a naked Translucent, but she had to admit that maybe that was just to be expected.

A thought was enough to freeze the man on his feet, her hand grasping the trembling boy's and pulling him back onto her lab, closing the door behind her.

He stared at her, shaking, and their gaze held for far longer than she could have guessed before he at last spoke.

"Y-You… You are… like me?"

The gravitational pull of his being was considerably smaller than her own, so she was quick to negate his words.

"No. Although you must be related to my kind somehow. Your pull is weak, so you must be a half blood, or even more diluted than that."

Other fae would hate him, she knew. Dismiss his right to exist on the lone basis of his blood, supposedly tainted by humans. Even her, a half-blood whose power garnered her a measure of respect no full blood could ignore, felt the mild disappointment at how weak his abilities seemed to be.

Fergus, whose father had also been mortal, had more power on his pinky finger than this trembling legacy held in his whole body.

"So, Hughie, tell me. What exactly are you doing here? Why was Translucent coming onto you in the bathroom, huh?"

She could gaze into him, and pick what knowledge she wanted. It was easy enough, all said, and with a sigh, Claire stopped his excuses.

"Alright, it's… well, it must be fine now. Just… get out of here. You _do not_ want Vought on your tail. Don't worry about that pervert either, I'll deal with him."

A thought, a wave of her hand, and the boy was gone. Back to his home, probably. If he didn't get caught somewhere along the way…

It was enough for her to be alone when the sharp, sudden wind, preluding the hand that wrapped tight around her neck, before she was shoved against the nearest wall.

The gaze she had forgotten, or gotten far too used to. Now facing her with rage and an expression she couldn't quite decipher…

Homelander. The Homelander, who had seen her powers in action. _Damn._

Her mind worked then, the lack of air just briefly inconveniencing her as she wished the air into her lungs. This was not the type of situation she could just ignore, and the Homelander was far too entranced by a different voice to be easily swayed… _unless…_

Her hands rose then, ignoring his rage, his hold on her neck, and kindly held his face before her fingers dug deep into his temples. And his world shifted.

* * *

There were footsteps leading towards the room, and John easily pretended he wasn't conscious of them as he kept eyeing the pages for the intended lesson.

The new teacher - and truly, he had to wonder if there was an infinite supply of them somewhere - stopped by the door to talk to his supervisors.

_"If you don't mind, I would like to try this first class without surveillance."_

Well, that was new. Would surely end up badly for her, but he didn't quite mind it. Not that he thought the scientists would agree, nevermind Vogelbaum.

_"Of course, Miss Beauchamp. Please contact us if needed."_

He had to blink. When had they ever reduced their watch over him? Especially when his every move and reaction was to be examined and dissected?

There was a rush of movement, however, and his new tutor, this _Miss Beauchamp,_ didn't bother entering till mostly everyone had left.

She held his attention from the moment his eyes first landed on her, and John could not tell what exactly was going on with his feelings, as she approached and he felt his cheeks blush.

Those golden-green eyes of hers caught his own, and it was as if the world tilted into place, its disarray only known as it got fixed.

This woman was his world. The perfect beauty, a gateway to a chaotic void of endless possibilities.

She held him close, whispered stories none of the scientists would have agreed to let him know, and generally expanded his worldview beyond what he could have ever imagined.

Miss Beauchamp was his one refuge in a life of endless cold and watchful stares, of endless tests and projected images of what life was he had to memorize, and never experience.

She showed him kindness and cruelty, ever unfazed at his strength, blessed as she was with her every whim becoming reality. There was no fear whatsoever in her, even when fazed with his worst tantrums.

He soon realized she was a goddess in disguise, an ideal even he could not reach, and couldn't help the burgeoning obsession that took him over. She was aware, of course, yet didn't seem to mind.

Three years he was blessed with her grace. Three whole years in which she taught him more than any tutor ever had… and then, with a smile and a kiss to his forehead, she vanished into thin air.

* * *

Back into that same room, things had changed.

For she had effortlessly woven herself into his life, at the point of most effective impact for her own whims, and what had once been a lunge of rage had turned into a hug of desperate longing.

"Miss Beauchamp… _Miss Beauchamp…_ you are back… you are back!"

She let him hold her, let him kiss her cheek, her lips, her neck, a smile curling her lips as she bore with his attentions.

"You may call me Claire now, John. After all, you've grown quite nicely, haven't you?"

He kissed her again, and again, and again, her name akin to a prayer falling from his lips every time they left her own.

He was hers now, completely, and had she remained more human than she actually was, mayhaps she would have felt a ping in her conscience, to have so fundamentally and yet not changed his very being.

The Fae than now made up her whole being only smiled, however, content enough at having gained such a useful knight to her side, uncaring of what would be of him once it was time for her to leave.

After all, weren't pawns to be used and discarded when needed?

* * *

It would only hit her much later, how she had shifted  _ Translucent's _ perception well enough to get Hughie off scot free, but not the one of the man she had turned into her faithful follower.

Had anyone been able to question her then, she would have pondered how her focus was in making him hers instead of the legacy who had quite slipped her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow but haven't THINGS happened since I started writing this chapter? Anyhow! Here it was!


End file.
